When I look in the mirror, and uncap the lipstick,
carefully applying the bright red to my lips,
I picture my mother looking back at me.
She was not one to fuss with makeup,
but always applied her lipstick with care.
Even as she faded with age, her lips blazed.
And I, who always wore muted colored gloss if anything,
now boldly wear true red in honor of my mother,
shining my light for the world to see.
Tag: Memories
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Memories of Mom’s Red Lipstick
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If I Could Dog-Ear a Day
Title inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I’d mark the days when it was just the three of us,
sitting around the glass-top table in your cozy Florida kitchen.
Although one of five children,
for those times, I was your only child,
soaking up the sweetness of having you two all to myself.
The click, click, click of the cards as we shuffled the deck
for the many games of rummy we’d play.
Sharing stories of your life, often heard, but always enjoyed.
Mom, always bragging about being the
rummy champion on Center Street as a child,
was never a graceful loser but was always ready to start anew.
Dad holding onto his cards to get the most points in a play,
even if it meant losing big if one of us played the last card first.
These simple everyday moments are treasures
I hold onto when I miss you the most. -
Living With Your Memories
In my mind, I travel to a place where
My passport is no longer valid,
And will not provide me with admittance.
I look through the window that contains
Only memories of the place that
Once was my safe harbor called home.
Of the arms and hearts of my parents who loved me,
But are no longer alive.I see the home decorated for birthday parties,
My dad making sure his girls had pretty party dresses
Where even our dog was dressed up for the festivities.
The yard full of neighborhood kids and cousins,
A swing set where ghost stories were told,
A rabbit hutch that was transformed into a clubhouse,
and summer carnivals with games and the best homemade fudge.I see the joy of trips to Piseco Lake,
And the cabin that would be home for a week.
Canoe rides to the island in the middle of the lake,
And nights at the dump nearby,
With the hopes of spotting bears
From the shelter of our station wagon.The annual trip to Cayuga Lake with my mom and siblings,
and my maternal aunt with her two youngest children.
We stayed in cabin 8, the biggest cabin with two bedrooms,
Though the bathrooms and showers were down the road.The sadness of my father leaving Sunday night to return to work in Syracuse
Would soon be filled with days when other relatives would visit,
And we would be free range children,
swimming in the lake and fishing from the pier,
catching sunfish and throwing them back into the lake
for someone else’s hook to snare them.
Buying candy at the little shop down the road,
And exploring places that we weren’t supposed to go.The longing for my parents and the grounding that they provided
Is something that I’m still learning to grasp.
When I return to the city of my birth,
With a hole in my heart that cannot be fixed.
The house that held these memories
Means nothing without the souls
Who once dwelled there.
Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems 